Archive of Our Own

Keith decided that the moment he and Lance got back to the Castle, he would arrange an ‘impromptu’ sparring session just so he could kick Lance’s ass onto the floor. He felt the last of his paper-thin patience wearing away as the pilot of the Blue Lion sighed, leaned back in his seat at the gun of the tiny recon vessel, and stretched his feet out onto the currently-locked console. He was a perfect picture of leisure on a mission that called for anything but, and Keith knew that they were only going to last a few more minutes before they had to scratch their mutual itch of jabbing each other’s nerve endings.”We’re about to come out of orbit. Could you at least try to take this seriously?”

“I am ,” Lance answered, feet still up on the console. “It’s not my fault there’s nothing to do because someone is hogging the pilot seat.” Keith groaned and barely stopped himself from rolling his eyes as he hit a few switches and eased the shuttle port-side. Lance didn’t stop himself from his own eye roll. He wasn’t about to be bossed around by Mr. I’m Hot Shit Extraordinaire, though he was very sure that Keith would never describe himself that way. Regardless, it was true: Keith was extraordinary, an aggravating shit, and also hot, all much to Lance’s daily annoyance. He always had to be Lance’s co-competitor in everything, even when he wasn't trying to be. He was the default against which Lance was compared. Even more irritatingly, the fact was that they were teammates, and when it really came down to it, they worked well together. Keith was fast, Lance was precise. Keith’s instinct was fierce, Lance’s planning was sharp. “How far?” He spoke up, trying to change the subject before he triggered that exact ferocity.

“Six hundred kilometers,” Keith replied. “Strap in,” he added, twisting in his seat to shoot his crewmate a pointed glare. Lance caught it and held it, sticking his tongue out. He was rarely surprised by Keith anymore and, for some reason, this infuriated Keith. As much as he kept going back to the tantalizing scenario of tripping Lance onto the ground - he knew he was the better of them at hand-to-hand combat - he also knew that in situations that called for motionless and enduring focus, Lance far surpassed him. His acute powers of concentration seemed at odds with his carefree attitude, but Keith had to give credit where credit was due or else be a hypocrite. Nevertheless, in moments like these, he found himself strongly wishing that he could witness Lance actually mis-step and fail to recover. What would Lance look like properly downed, underneath the sportsmanly charisma that was all that Keith saw when he was just temporarily knocked over? He sighed. “What I’d give to see you just… unravelled for once.”

Lance quirked a brow, not dropping his stare. Keith froze. That had been his outside voice. “You couldn’t handle it.” The comeback had come immediately but Lance also stilled, mildly confused by his own luring delivery. ‘Unravel’ was quite the choice of word: something deconstructing, uncoupling. Unraveling was like not only falling prone but also falling out of rationality. What would Keith want from witnessing that kind of vulnerability? 

Both of them detected something different than usual behind this banter, as if their words were betraying things they hadn’t meant to betray even to themselves. It felt like the cabin pressure had suddenly changed, displacing the air from Keith’s lungs, making his head feel heavier. Neither of them seemed to be able to think of something else to say, neither of them seemed to be able to shake their rigidity, and neither of them seemed to be able to look away.

Only a sudden impact on their starboard side finally shook them. Alarms blared and both Keith and Lance jumped into action. “What happened?” Lance asked, standing and moving to the central console to scan all the flashing indicators. Keith was busy trying to coax the shuttle back onto the proper angle for surface approach and only deigned Lance with a grunt. Lance didn’t press and instead re-seated himself and buckled up. He swiveled to a secondary console and unlocked it. He found the structural overlay of their space vehicle. “Engine,” he said, mildly alarmed at the discovery of the problem. “Direct hit.” They would have to land as soon as possible, and it likely wasn’t going to be comfortable.

“Brace yourself,” Keith responded, coming to the same conclusion. His forearms strained as he guided the craft down as gradually as he could, all while hearing the intermittent sputtering of the failing engine.

Their crash was rough and Lance already felt his skin prickle with a friction burn from his seatbelt, but, objectively, they were in the best case scenario. Keith had gotten them down as safely as he possibly could have and, apart from the jolt when they hit the ground, everything internally looked intact. Lance unbuckled himself and let himself pant a couple of breaths before looking over at the shuttle pilot. Keith’s chest was rising and falling in a similarly heavy pattern, but he looked unharmed. Lance turned back to the console readout: atmosphere 73% N2, 26% O2, <1% Ar, CO2; gravity 11 m/s2. The screen was flickering. The shock of the landing must have dislodged something. “I think we need to reboot,” he said. Instead of a verbal acknowledgement, he heard Keith unbuckle his seatbelt and stand up.

Keith grabbed his helmet and moved toward the pressurization chamber, but Lance stopped him mid-step. He glimpsed the atmospheric readout, set his helmet on a crate, and exited without the pressure calibration just as the lights dimmed. He didn’t have time to waste. Lance joined him as he finally passed to the starboard side of the craft. There was a huge dent in the exterior: clear impact damage right where the main engine, the most crucial one without which they were toast, sat.

“Well that sucks.” Keith whirled around to tell Lance off for being far too casual about this right now but Lance moved his head and attention away before he could catch him. Keith followed his line of sight and both Paladins spotted what looked like a piece of wreckage not too far from them. Judging by the loose pebbles and impacted surface of the planet below it, it was recent. “Hey, do you think that might be…?” Lance didn’t finish his sentence, but he gathered that Keith agreed it was worth investigating as he started off toward it immediately. Lance almost tripped in an attempt to catch up. Their footsteps spun up thin dust beneath their boots and Lance’s activated calves told him they were ascending. Looking around for a better lay of the land, he observed the distinctive dip of the inside of a shallow crater: perhaps another reason their impact was relatively smooth on their shuttle’s slide down.

Up close, the wreckage was clearly made of some sort of metal. It hadn’t rusted, but without knowing what metal it was, it was impossible to tell how well that indicated its age. Whatever it had come from was likely larger than their shuttle but Lance didn’t recognize it as belonging to any of the enemy aliencraft he had learned to date. Upon more scrutinizing, it also didn’t quite match the shape of the dent in the side of their shuttle. A chill suddenly made his skin erupt in goosebumps, but he had felt no wind. There was a faint whistling that seemed to be coming from everywhere around him. He looked at Keith; he was still studying the debris. He looked around them; there were no other signs of life and no signs of the ground shifting. He looked up; all of his blood pooled in his feet and he yelped, immediately pushing his full weight against Keith.

Keith’s vision blurred from the impact of his skull against the rocky ground: all psychedelic colours and spiky shapes with shards of not-actually-there glass zooming across the foreground. His ears rang just as sharply, but that cleared faster than the kaleidoscope, fast enough to hear the screech of machinery scraping against itself, fast enough to hear Lance make a noise of pain Keith had never heard before. It was somewhere between a whimper and a gasp. It was short. It was almost too quiet to detect, too vulnerable to be acknowledged or even shared. Keith’s throat constricted as if he himself had made it, and without that reaction he wouldn't have been certain he had heard anything at all.

Keith felt Lance before he saw him. He hovered over Keith’s body on his hands and knees, fingers digging into the loose stone of the surface of this planet. Above Lance was the large piece of debris they had just been examining, pushing on his back, slightly-higher-than-Earth gravity fighting his human strength. The glare from this system’s sun momentarily brought back Keith’s kaleidoscope vision and he groaned in both pain and frustration. 

Lance felt his heart rate accelerate, pounding louder and louder in his ears. He struggled to control his breathing - something wasn't right. Something was not right . Air was getting into his lungs just fine; the planet's atmosphere was still just as breathable as it had been two minutes ago. As far as he could feel, all his limbs were accounted for. He hadn't hit his head. Probably. Keith was clutching his, though. Lance could see that in his peripheral vision. His eyes were locked on his hands and the solid rock beneath them, and he tried to scan his body to understand why it was heaving. The weight of the metal on his back was almost more than he could handle and he kept getting distracted, lost, his attention screaming away to keep himself conscious.

Something was not right .

“Keith,” Lance breathed shakily. He almost buckled, but he couldn't. That thought kept repeating in his head over and over: Do. Not. Move.

Although Keith’s vision painted a few extra stars in the sky than were actually there, it had cleared enough to see Lance. He placed a hand on Lance’s chest, intending to shove him off with a defusing comment about how this was not the time for team bonding regardless of what Shiro had told them before they left a few hours ago, but Lance’s grey expression stopped him. “Are you okay?” he asked instead, hoping he’d get Lance’s typical quippy response. He even would have accepted his just-as-typical melodramatic barrage of complaints. He did not get either.

“...No.” The moment he said it, Lance’s attention finally caught up to what his body and brain were trying to yell at him. He felt the plate on his back through his suit. He could get an approximation of its texture. Everything was sort of room-temperature warm, except for somewhere at his left side. There he could feel something sharp. It was cold. The suit should have blocked it out, which meant something was touching his skin. But his skin was abnormally warm, hot even. That meant that something had penetrated it.

Keith couldn't help the curse that came out of his mouth when he found the obvious source of Lance’s quiet cry of pain: the mangled mess on top of him wasn't all smooth; it had at least two sharp protrusions made in snapping away from its source, one of which was currently embedded in Lance’s side. Lance’s thought in that moment was that Keith swearing wasn't completely out of the ordinary, but his expression … his expression was. Lance could see plainly in his parted lips and frozen stare that Keith was looking at something that really fucking scared him. 

Although Lance had, in a way, indirectly asked Keith to find out what was wrong in the first place, the narrowing of Keith’s focus too perfectly directed his attention to the part of his body that half of him was trying to circle with a red marker and the other half of him was trying to hide behind a redaction pen. To his regret, the former won, and before all thoughts escaped him he wondered how he was staying conscious with how intense the pain was.

Lance couldn't feel much beyond this searing pain, not even his own hands on the ground, except for Keith’s palm on his chest. He was pushing against him to help hold him up. “ Lance .” Keith swore again. “S-stay still. I’m…” His voice caught in his throat. “Med pack. Has a stabilizer.” He said it with hope more than certainty. “Don't move.”

Lance wanted to crumple onto the ground. He was not many seconds away from crumpling directly onto Keith . Part of him knew, though, that if he moved now, Keith would also be impaled and he wouldn't have any strength left to haul this broken piece of hull off of them. They would both bleed out and die, stranded in an empty crater with no sounds of comfort, only their own accelerating and then slowing breaths. He would bleed out and die even faster if he wrenched himself off of this thing prematurely. If he wanted at least one of them to survive, he could not move and he could not pass out. He felt Keith’s eyes search his face. He ripped his gaze away from his hands again and, not trusting his voice, he just nodded weakly.

Keith acknowledged it immediately, analyzing the debris surrounding them, trapping them in one of the only narrow spaces where the sky and ground were both visible. Lance watched him, anchoring his attention to the flickering of Keith’s eyes between grey and blue. Said grey-blues finally centered on him, wide with urgency and apology. “I can’t get out without touching you.”

“S’fine,” Lance muttered out in a whisper. The exchange was quick because it had to be. There wasn't time to even think about awkwardness when most of the reaction Lance’s body gave to Keith holding his thigh and pressing against his right hip was flares of pain from being jostled. He couldn't contain his half-sob half-scream, even through clenched teeth. His muscles weren't working right, he was easily destabilized, and it was all he could do to just stay on his hands and knees. He was crying. Keith was crying. But Keith had to push through to stand up and sprint to their small shuttle. Every pound of his foot on the ground seemed to rattle his brain, turning the horizon sideways and interrupting old dire thoughts with new dire thoughts. He’s going to die. Shuttle. Door. Release lever. Lance is going to die. Rear compartment. White box. He’s bleeding out. Knife. Safety seal. Move your fucking legs, Keith.

Lance felt Keith before he saw or heard him. He recognized his presence after all this time; something about the movement of the air around him always tipped him off at the last second. Keith’s voice sounded abnormally loud in his ears. “I… Lance, I need you to…” Lance heard Keith’s shaky breath in and out to stabilize his pitch. It didn't work. “I need both hands to hold this.” Lance didn't need Keith to clarify whether he meant the stabilizer or the metal currently stuck in him. Both possibilities shared the same next step: Lance had to move his body off the metal himself. His vision blurred, only catching vague movement below him. “I’ll hold.” Lance felt the weight on his back lessen as Keith spoke to him. “When you… When…” He couldn't say it but Lance filled in the blank: When you un-impale yourself by lowering onto the ground, with control, slowly sliding this spike out of your abdomen while you stay conscious enough to experience the worst pain you will ever feel in your life. “Then hold the button on the right side. Put it on your… your side. Release it.” Every fiber of Lance’s being wailed that he couldn't do it. He would rather die. He was going to di- “ Lance ! Please!”

The alarm and raw plea in Keith’s voice spurred Lance to action. He didn't bother hiding his scream this time, couldn't rather, because if he was going to live then he had no choice but to do this carefully, which meant attending to every second of it. He couldn't risk ripping something vital, if that hadn't already happened. At least, that's what he had been thinking before he had started this. During the actual process, Lance had little to no coherent thought. It was only when he dropped to the ground, directly onto the equipment below him, that he remembered that he had to do something else. After the longest moments of the day, feeling like he was drifting in and out of consciousness, in and out of a pit of molten lava, the device was secured on his side. He hoped it was in the right place. He felt a foot push against his arm at the same time he heard Keith’s warbled voice. Keith struggled to hold the debris as he repeated to Lance to move out of its range. He only had so much strength left. He needed to call Shiro. Lance’s body moved instinctively away from the prodding and he was jerked back to a semi-lucid consciousness by the crash of a new pain and metal-on-rock.

Keith dodged the falling wreckage and stumbled onto his knee. The world spun as he landed next to Lance’s right side, briefly brushing his hip. He scanned Lance's doubled body for any other obvious injuries and, seeing none on either of the two Lances in his vision, he hoisted his teammate up and made way for the downed shuttle. He hadn't checked the comms yet. He prayed to any and all deities that may or may not have ever existed for the comms to not be completely unsalvageable. Lance suddenly got heavier and Keith nearly dropped again but he bit the inside of his cheek to fire his muscles to keep them upright. Lance had no doubt just passed out. Bad. Incredibly bad. But he couldn't move faster.

Keith punched the switch for the emergency cot and laid Lance down on his right side. He stumbled to the door and shut it. Then he powered up the systems on the second try, his fingers missing the timing that he could usually do in his sleep. The indicator for engine failure flashed incessantly, but the consoles flared to life. With a trembling hand, Keith found the channel input. He hesitated. What is the frequency? Come on, Keith, what is it ? What is it?! His brain only gave two digits at a time, some overlapping, some out of order. He was beginning to hyperventilate. He definitely had a concussion. Lance was dying five feet away from him. The thought spun his head to his companion: Lance was still breathing and the stabilizing device looked secure. Thank the any and all gods. He should have checked. He should have- “Hmmh.” Keith was immediately at Lance’s side as he groaned in pain, returning to consciousness.

Keith’s hands moved before his mind did, to the white container of medical supplies still left open nearby. He picked up painkillers and loaded them into a contraption he had learned worked a lot like a needle but without the needle itself. He moved to press it against Lance’s arm but was blocked by his armoured suit. He pulled down Lance’s shirt collar just enough to get his neck instead.

The effect wasn't immediate; it took about a minute for Lance’s breathing to even out a little. He finally opened his eyes to find himself on the shuttle, a pale and sweaty Keith fixated on him, looking like he would keel over at the slightest prod from behind. He heard the beeps characteristic of a powered up computer system and he glanced at the controls. An orange light flashed near the middle, indicating dead engines. He felt a little tipsy. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten here. He didn't see any other errors. Then his eyes landed on the comms console. Frequency: It was blank. He looked back at Keith, who seemed to have followed his gaze because his shoulders rose up and his eyes were pleading.

“I can't-” Keith cut himself off, closing his eyes and bringing his hand to his temple as he rebalanced. Lance’s slightly clearer mind saw the bruise already forming. Concussion? Memory loss? Bad. Very bad.

“I… ‘member Shiro’s.”

Keith opened his eyes. They looked glassy. Before Lance could comment on it, Keith had swiftly moved back to the console, one hand gripping the side of it as if he would fall at any moment. There was blood on it. Lance recited Shiro’s communication frequency. Keith deftly punched it in with his other hand, not once letting go of the side of the console. The feedback noise indicated an error in start-up. Keith slammed his fist down onto the screen.

“Reboot system,” Lance suggested. He tried to move to do it himself before catching a glimpse of the blood on the floor, leading from his cot to the doorway, and remembering the ghost of the pain in his side. The cockpit swayed and swirled. His confused exhale brought Keith next to him immediately. “M’fine,” he grunted, but as his fingers brushed the side of the contraption that was staying the bleeding, he was overcome with the re-realization that he was not, in fact, fine at all. He nevertheless gestured to the other side of the cabin. Keith wordlessly re-keyed the power down and reboot sequences, successfully on his first try.

As the power cycled through various mechanisms, Keith inspected the device latched onto Lance’s side for a second time. It covered the entire hole or gash that was currently there, keeping the blood internal through some alien science that he could be easily convinced was magic. However, Keith’s next brain zap planted a new thought in his mind that should have come earlier. “Your suit needs to come off.” Lance cocked an eyebrow but the expression didn't pull his mouth as it would have usually. “We didn't sterilize.” A new path to death opened up to Lance and this time he swore.

“Reuseable?” he asked, pointing to the stabilizer in his side.

“I don't know but we have one more,” Keith replied, pulling scissors and two more alien machines from the white box on the floor: one identical to the thing on Lance's side and the other looking like three plastic water bottles fused together, plus some bits and bobs. “Rinser,” Keith supplied: a slightly shorter and rougher word for the magical alien-tech version of a portable sink, with a few extra bells and whistles that Lance hoped included fluid that wouldn’t fuck up his bloodstream or otherwise worsen his current condition. Keith hesitated. So did Lance. Even with strong painkillers (or perhaps because of them), Lance could still feel the occasional jolt of heat and nausea. There was already a line of blood to the shuttle from what had soaked onto and then dripped from Lance’s suit, not to mention whatever had leaked onto the ground near the pile of junk they had casually strolled over to not too long ago. At least, he assumed it wasn’t long ago. He didn't know how much blood he had lost and he could lose more, too much. But if he didn't at least expel the dust and broken matter out of his wound a little, the stabilizer would just keep all the foreign bacteria and chemicals inside his body: a perfect air-tight environment for them to grow and tear him apart from the inside. Neither Paladin knew how to proceed, but time was ticking forward.

The comms console lit up again. Lance heard the rush of power on boot and he exchanged a glance with Keith. He recited Shiro’s frequency again. Keith typed in the digits with one hand again. Keith gripped the side of the console again as the system computer tried to ping its target on the highest priority encrypted signal. One ping. Two pings. Three pings.

“Keith?” Shiro's voice resonated through the speakers. “What-”

“We need you. Now.” Keith cut him off, voice shrill, cracking at the end. He sounded like as much of a wreck as Lance felt. Looked it, too. Only a beat passed before Shiro responded.

“On my way.” His tone meant business. “Were you discovered?”

“No. Crashed on… I’ll… I’ll send coordinates.” Keith concentrated on navigating the menus and swiftly sent out the information. He refused to let his fingers tremble.

“Are you injured?”

Keith sucked in his breath so loudly that Lance was sure Shiro heard it.

“How bad?” He had definitely heard it.

“Don't know. Lance is…” He looked back at Lance again and lost the rest of his words. The dark red of blood didn't match the vibrant sheen of the suit, it looked wrong . The colour was wrong. The amount was wrong. The dripping of viscous liquid overtop of dried fingerprints was wrong.

“Lance is…?” Shiro’s tone was commanding.

“Here,” Lance said. “For now.” It could have been a joke, but he didn't have it in him. His tone was too flat. Fear and confusion were both obvious in it. From Shiro’s shaky breath out over the open channel, he gathered that Shiro had interpreted correctly. “M’stable. Painkillers.”

“There's so much blood.” Keith had only murmured it but Lance still heard the tail-end of Shiro’s whimper in response. He heard several consecutive button presses, audible because they were pushed with more force than was necessary.

“I’m calling the others. Keep this line open. We’ll get you as fast as possible.”

“Please” was all Keith could say before the connection dropped, Shiro no doubt calling Pidge and Hunk. For the next minute, Keith’s mind tumbled over itself, his stomach lurching seemingly randomly, a frequent buzzing echoing in his left ear that he didn't recognize as coming from the ship’s systems. He stared blankly at the wall behind Lance, trying to will his balance to settle so that he wouldn't need to keep compensating by rocking one way or the other just to sit upright.

“Keith.” Lance's voice momentarily brought Keith back to the shuttle. He shifted his gaze to Lance, who motioned at the items he had retrieved from the medical package. “Don't have… lotta time.” No, he thought. We don't. He could only move because he had to, his fingers first curling around the sections of the armour that he could detach without moving the machine plugging Lance’s wound. It was only a minute later before the next monumental task was before him: the piece covering the wound. He found the release switch on the stabilizer and paused, looking Lance in the eye. Eye contact with Keith was always intense for Lance, even though he had gotten used to it. His eyes always carried his emotions, but the ones present right now were not the ones Lance was used to seeing. It was disorienting.

“ Lance .” Keith's tone was warning. Lance allowed himself one more deep breath. Then he nodded.

The click of the stabilizer brought blood with it, which was expected but still alarming. Keith moved fast, letting the contraption fall to the floor, followed shortly by Lance’s detached armour. There was still a shirt in the way, the part on Lance’s bottom-left soaked and sticking to his skin. Keith grabbed the scissors and cut Lance out of it, pausing peeling it off until he felt Lance tense in anticipation. Parts of it stuck to the wound and Keith tried his hardest to be gentle, but he still caught Lance’s clipped moans and felt him flinch under his fingers. He whispered an apology as he pressed the rinser to Lance’s side, between his hip and lower abdomen. He held it firmly with both hands and tried not to look too hard at the burst and frayed skin that was visible through the translucent tubing. He let it go through its full cycle, not entirely knowing if this had been the right idea, anxiously comparing Lance’s combined pool of blood to the volume of each standard beaker size he knew. Then it was over and he clamped the second and last stabilizer onto Lance’s body.

Keith's breaths were coming fast. Lance's remained relatively stable. He was still awake, though he didn't move from his position. His pain was dull for now but exhausting. His mind was swimming. The drugs were strong. He watched Keith, whose hands and forearms were now completely covered with blood, some older streaking the chest and legs of his suit. He was hanging on by a thread, but that thread was fraying. Part of Lance wished that Keith would collapse and sleep; watching him lose to his emotions only made Lance’s nausea worse. He was too young to be experiencing something like this. They both were.

One of Keith’s bloodied hands came up to his temple. As it pulled back away, Keith seemed to notice it again and startled. Lance knew what panic looked like and Keith was the last person he wanted to see it on, but here he was: witnessing him unspooling right in front of him. He had to do something. Anything. “Keith?” Keith didn't respond. “Hey.” Nothing. Lance reached his hand out and clasped Keith's wrist. Keith jerked but Lance held firm. 

“We’re here.” Shiro’s voice came through the open channel. “We see you. Touching down in just a minute. You still there?”

“...Yeah.” Keith tested his voice box. Lance had not let go of him yet. Keith hoped he wouldn't at all. He was his only ground right now.

Shiro sighed, relief, concern, and agitation all present at once. “Pidge is ahead. She might get to you first.” The connection cut again.

Keith couldn't decide whether Pidge or Hunk was the last person he wanted to discover them like this. Pidge was action-oriented and logical, but very young. She shouldn't have had to see this. Hunk was strong-hearted and warm, but very empathetic. Keith wasn't sure his heart could handle it. A fleeting thought of Shiro’s fractured smile also decided to grace Keith's mind before he heard the clank of the door mechanism.

Keith and Lance turned toward the door as Pidge stepped quickly through the threshold. Her determined expression cracked immediately upon seeing them: her brows twisted, her mouth opened, her eyes widened, and her nose scrunched up. “Hey,” Lance breathed out. He said it neutrally, without much feeling. He knew he looked too fucked up right now to get away with humour or nonchalance. Pidge took in the scene, gaze jumping from Lance to Keith in her evaluation of the situation. She’d seen the small trail of blood leading from the wrecked shell of either a ship or a satellite all the way to the shuttle door. She’d seen blood generally before, in little pools and clumps and in inconvenient places many times, including on her companions, but… not like this. She gestured helplessly to Keith's arms.

“Whose…?” The question died in her throat when she met Keith’s dark and defeated eyes. He looked like he had aged at least five years. He swayed a little and his gaze wandered.

“Mine,” Lance answered. He paused, watching Pidge trace the boundaries of the rest of the blood in the cabin. “All of it,” he added quietly. He nearly regretted it as he watched Pidge pale, looking suddenly very unsteady. Lance swore she was going to vomit until Shiro suddenly appeared, catching her shoulders and coaxing her outside. By the time he whirled back around, Keith caught Pidge’s voice, deeper than he had ever heard it, telling Hunk not to go in.

Shiro made his assessment quicker than Pidge. Keith didn't hear him curse but he saw his lips move in the right way to have done so. Then he grabbed Lance, lifting him with a grunt. Lance finally successfully bit back a groan. Although Shiro didn’t hear it, he felt it. “Can you walk?” Shiro asked Keith. Keith stood up without answering, managing to follow him out of the shuttle before pitching suddenly to the left. He was greeted by Hunk’s strong grip on his forearms and his concerned eyes - watering, then icing over when he got a proper look at Keith's hands. 

“...going to be okay?” Keith heard Hunk whisper as he hoisted Keith up into his arms and the five Paladins moved toward three Lions: Black, Yellow, and Green. 

Keith said nothing.The kaleidoscope was back, this time accompanied by hopefully phantom sounds. Hunk didn't say anything further; he instead placed a warm hand briefly on Keith's back. He hadn't wanted to see him be vulnerable like this , not with a tear-streaked face, hands looking like they had reached directly into- No. He couldn't think about that right now. He needed to help get both Keith and Lance back to safety. The first way he was going to do that was by helping Shiro secure Lance in the back of the Black Lion. The second way was by securing Keith in right next to him.

–

The Castle felt still and silent, even as the bubbles inside the healing pod floated upwards and popped when they hit the confines of the capsule. Keith watched them pass over the skin of Lance’s tanned shoulders and bruised back, wordlessly, alone with the lights dimmed. He did this daily, staring until his eyes burned and Shiro or Hunk or Allura or Coran or even Pidge coaxed or dragged him to bed. Even there, Lance’s split skin and muscle flickered in and out of his vision. He’d spent a couple of days in one of the pods himself, but he pressed the heel of his palm to the side of his forehead to stifle a sudden and worsening headache.

“He’ll be okay.” A vertebra in Keith’s neck cracked as he tensed and swivelled his head to watch an approaching Shiro. The pilot of the Black Lion - their strongest and most experienced - sat down next to him; Keith hadn’t invited him, but he was not going to dismiss him either. Shiro’s index finger lightly brushed Keith’s forehead - where his bruise had been but was no longer. His expression was stoic. “Is it bothering you?” It wasn’t clear to Keith what Shiro meant by ‘it,’ but judging by the twitch of his lip, he had meant his words to be ambiguous. It was an opening Keith recognized, but he wasn't sure he could walk through it.

“I’m fine,” he responded, lowering his voice instinctively. Shiro didn't move, didn't seem to react at all for several moments. All his memories of Keith’s stubbornness flooded to the surface of his consciousness, followed shortly thereafter by pangs of loneliness and then of earnestness. He rested his hand on Keith's shoulder. Keith didn't flinch this time. Shiro fell into their easy connection and communicated what he wanted to say without so much as tickling his voice box. You know better than to lie to me. Keith deflated some. “All right. I’m not fine.” He left it at that, which Shiro took this time as his cue not to press. He let go of Keith and leaned back onto his hands, glancing at Lance still floating just a few meters away.

“You're not the only one,” Shiro admitted. He didn't think any of them were okay after seeing just how much damage had been done to the Blue Paladin. He didn't think any of them were okay after witnessing Keith's indisputable emotional collapse because of it. They hadn't been there when it had all happened but they hadn't needed to be to understand that both Keith and Lance had been genuinely afraid of losing their lives. He felt Keith's hand on his knee. He smiled briefly at him. “He’ll be okay,” he repeated, “because you're here. We’re here.” He didn't add that the same went for Keith but he hoped that he assumed that by now. A sigh next to him brought momentary warmth to his chest. Keith’s hand slid off Shiro’s knee. 

“I’ll get some rest.” Keith slowly rose, then offered a hand to Shiro, who took it and also stood. Shiro nodded, continuing to smile gently. Something about that always brought Keith down to placidity. He allowed himself one more glance at Lance. Something still stirred in his gut; before all this, he had only felt it once, maybe twice. Now it was incessant and confounding, but for now, Shiro’s calming aura deterred the unrest. After another deep breath Keith walked the dim corridors back to his room.

–

Lance carefully stepped forward, unsure if his legs would hold his weight. Allura and Coran stood close by him. He saw Keith. Keith stared at him with exhausted, bloodshot eyes. Keith’s skin was beyond pale and into grey. It was suddenly harder to breathe.

Keith stepped forward, close enough to Lance now that he could reach out and touch him. He almost did so, pausing when his fingers hovered in front of Lance’s left side. The scar was unignorable: slightly lighter in colour than the rest of Lance's skin, thinner, large enough to compare to the size of Keith's hand. Lance tried his voice. “It's fine now.” He watched Keith's fingers tremble for a brief moment. “Stings a little when I move,” Lance added, smiling lightly but effortfully. He assumed that that would go away eventually. 

He met Keith's eyes again. He remembered the shape of the bruise on his forehead and his attention snapped there before he could read Keith's current emotions. His fingers suddenly hovered in front of the shadowed skin; he stopped himself from touching. Touching felt too far. Too close. One of those. Both of those. Something was different about Keith. Something was different about Lance. “It's fine now,” Keith mumbled. Lance was watching his eyes again; they were wide, too dry to be glassy in this moment but probably would have been if he had gotten more restful sleep. Why wasn't he getting sleep? “Mostly.” 

Shiro watched the whole scene with shallow but quiet breaths. It was still hard to look at Lance's side and be forced to imagine how big and sharp the object that had impaled him had been. The others also said nothing and didn't move a muscle. One misstep could shatter the cracked glass that was Keith and Lance in front of them, healing pods or no. This brand of alien magitech didn't suddenly heal people’s memories. It didn't stop them from replaying over and over until their bearers broke in half because they couldn't take it anymore. Shiro had seen it daily with Keith: the Red Paladin was rupturing just as fast as he was mending. Now that he was awake, Lance looked no less haunted.

Shiro caught Hunk’s eye and guessed his silent question. What do we do? Shiro didn't need to shrug for Hunk to know his answer. I don't know right now. 

Well, if Shiro wasn't going to do anything, then Hunk would. 

With that, Hunk tentatively stepped up next to Keith and Lance, placing a gentle hand on each of them. Keith tensed, his hand locked just in front of Lance’s abdomen. Lance relaxed, his hand at Keith's temple dropping. Lance looked at Hunk first. “Hey, bud,” he said. He smiled what he thought was his usual smile. Hunk found a wrinkle between his eyebrows that had never used to accompany this particular grin. Hunk smiled back anyway, pulling Lance into a side hug, letting go of Keith briefly.

“I’m so glad you're okay!” he cried. Lance laughed lightly and let himself get squeezed, patting Hunk on the back in gratitude.

“Me too.”

“You must be starving!” 

“I’m actually a little cold? Anyone got a shirt?” Pulling away from Hunk with a laugh, Lance regarded his comrades carefully. Hunk was radiating protective energy but clearly holding some back to not make Lance uncomfortable. Pidge was watching and waiting with an appropriate mix of relief and concern. Shiro was watching and evaluating something that Lance didn’t want to dwell on. Keith's arms were folded. His expression was still tired but a wall, or maybe a mask, obscured anything else he was feeling. Had that always been there? Or was Lance still delirious from numerous days unconscious? Keith, not looking delirious to Lance but personally not feeling that far off, checked his balance as Hunk hugged him next.

“Hunk!” His change in pitch was deliberate. He could feel the assessing stares from the others around him.

“No, you need this too!” Hunk insisted as Keith begrudgingly surrendered control of his limbs. “What do you need?” he directed at Lance. Lance's growling stomach answered for him, earning a laugh from Pidge, then Shiro, then Allura, then everyone else, including Keith. The wall - or mask - faded for that moment, but something kept tugging Lance’s attention back to it. It was like he forgot all of what Keith’s expression had held the moment it levelled, as if whatever covered it was a mirror suddenly reflecting hot and blinding rays of a nearby sun. For some reason, he was compelled to stare at it. Sometimes it stared back. A couple of times, the Keith behind it did.

This wasn't like Keith. Or, perhaps it was. It had been like Keith to be private, but Lance remembered their shuttle conversation before the crash: light words but heavy air, something shifting slightly out of norm. He didn’t understand it and he was currently too drained to figure it out, but he wouldn’t let it go until he did. He had to know what had happened.

–

Lance nearly lost his balance parrying. Even though his side didn't ache anymore, even when strained, whenever he thought about it he overcompensated. His mind and his body weren't on the same page, weren't even in the same time and place. The sweat and elevated heart rate that came with exertion had nearly choked him a few minutes earlier: his body’s alarms sounded louder than required for sparring, especially considering that this was lighter than usual as part of physical rehabilitation. This was low to no stakes. Yet, Lance ground his teeth every time Keith came at him from the left.

To his credit, Keith wasn't exactly helping. He tensed every time he got behind his partner. His hesitation was minute, but it was enough of a tell to trigger Lance’s automatic bracing. Yet, Keith knew Lance was barely keeping up. This was hard on him, but Keith was beginning to understand that it wasn't for the reasons one would have thought. Physical strain was something they were used to. Emotional traumatic injuries were not. Their bodies were keeping score even when they weren’t saying or thinking anything about it.

As Keith lunged in with his blade again, Lance finally lost his balance. It wasn't because he tripped to get away or because his ankle twisted as he turned his body out of the way. It was because Keith caught Lance’s brief anxious expression and underextended, not closing enough of the space and instead soaring past his opponent. Lance, prepared to take weighted pressure, rolled onto his side and hit the floor.

Keith heard Lance before he saw him. A quiet gasp escaped him and Keith's body was immediately thrust back to the memory of Lance’s blood leaking onto Keith’s suit, of Lance’s blood trailing behind them as Keith dizzily carried him to the shuttle, of Lance’s blood pooling on the floor as Keith gritted his teeth and tried not to notice how hard Lance was gripping the side of the cot. His breath caught in his throat and his weapon clattered as his hands found Lance.

Lance almost asked what had gotten into him until he saw Keith’s expression. Several ticks passed. They both looked bewildered. Keith looked on the verge of panic. Lance noticed he wasn't breathing. “Keith?” Keith’s right hand twitched against Lance’s bicep but nothing else moved. Lance’s shoulders were starting to hurt. Lance repeated Keith’s name, but with the same result. He couldn't do this again: he couldn't watch Keith spiral, he couldn't endure his pain, he couldn't pass out, he couldn't lose him. “Stay with me,” he said, with more power than he thought he currently had in him. Keith stayed, though Lance wasn't sure if that was just because he couldn't move anywhere else. “Hey, you handled it just fine before-”

“I almost couldn't.” Keith's voice was small. He knew that Lance was fine in the here and now, or at least part of him did. Another part of him swore he could see a flashing orange indicator light. 

“Keith, I’m fine, I’m not even close to passing out or dying-”

“You were .” Keith knew from the shifting of Lance's legs that his words had hit somewhere vital. “Sorry,” he said. He wasn't, really, because everything he was saying was true. 

“...I was.” Keith didn't expect Lance’s admission. His throat closed and he was beginning to drown under a murky proverbial water. Lance regarded Keith with a weighty but careful eye. He was surprised to find the mask absent, but not relieved to find dread in its place. They hadn't spoken about it since their recovery. In fact, they hadn't spoken about anything at all one on one. It had probably only been a matter of time before something like this happened. “Listen,” Lance started. “I hate seeing you like this.” 

“I hate watching you fucking die .” Both of them felt a thread break. Keith felt the pain in his gut reach a new height. Lance felt a mental puzzle piece snap into place. “I hate watching you struggle and bleed all over me-”

“I didn't want you to die either! I couldn't-!” Lance cut himself off with a shaky breath. Why were they doing it like this? “I couldn't handle the thought of you… just… gone .”

“And you thought I could ?!” This was escalating and Keith knew it, but he was also convinced it was necessary. 

Lance knew that he probably would be reacting the same way if he was in Keith’s position, but his vocal cords sounded anyway. “You have the others-”

“They’re not you !” Once again, Keith and Lance detected something different than usual behind this arguing, as if their words were betraying things they hadn’t meant to betray even to themselves. Keith felt hot. Lance felt vulnerable . Another piece locked onto the working puzzle.

Then it was awkward. The change in atmosphere hit Keith square in the chest and he let go of Lance. His movements were stilted. Instead of a calm after the flood of emotions, there was a tiny spark that kept threatening to spread across the whole ocean. Lance couldn’t meet Keith’s eyes and almost missed his extended hand. They both stood, and the change in positioning seemed to defuse something. They were at the same level. “So,” Lance simply said.

“So,” Keith replied in an identical tone. 

“...Not exactly how I thought you’d unravel me.” Lance tried the joking approach. It was his go-to. It was how he was trying to show everyone around him that he was back to his old self, even though the effort it was taking lately felt at least double what it had before, at least with everyone other than Keith. Nearly bleeding out, venting visceral pain, and crying from being unable to remember the day of the week changed their self-perceptions. Then effectively telling each other that they would be destroyed if they lost each other laid the rest out plainly in front of them. There was nothing left to hide. Lance didn’t have to manipulate anything for Keith’s benefit - Keith would see through it, just like he was seeing through Keith. The Red Paladin didn’t seem to react: no flush of the face or ears, no stinging grimace, and no exasperated fire in his eyes either. The gears and cogs that made up Keith’s mind were turning slower than usual. Even Keith could tell. This would probably keep happening for at least another several weeks.

“You undid me instead,” Keith said simply. He could have said it jokingly back, could have tsked and fallen back onto his purposely-aggravating quips just to rile up some silly adversarial banter, but the quiet deadpan delivered an emotion Keith hadn’t realized he felt until he heard his own voice falter. Frankly, he was traumatized. He felt both too old and too new. He woke up in a cold sweat from nightmares about Lance’s intestines falling out of his gaping abdomen, and even a warm shower and furious scrubbing of his arms couldn’t rid him of the feeling of dried and cracked carnage underneath his fingernails. While the Red Paladin hadn’t reacted immediately, the Blue did: his face softened, he missed a breath. Keith watched it. Lance watched Keith watch it. The air crackled. Pressurized. De pressurized? Something happened. Lance wanted to say sorry. He wanted to say thank you. He wanted to say, I’m still not okay either.

Instead, he said, “You would have done the same.” For me. To me. Six words were heavy with meaning, and this time the Red Paladin moved instantly: he unfolded his arms, he stepped forward, he wrapped his arms around Lance. Lance buried his cheek in the crook of Keith’s neck, one arm squeezing his shoulder and the other holding his waist, mirroring Keith’s positioning of his own limbs. They stayed like that. Lance squeezed tighter, closing his eyes and breathing Keith in. Keith squeezed tighter, first at both the shoulders and waist, then relaxing abruptly at the waist. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” Lance murmured into Keith’s ear. Keith stiffened but he didn’t pull away. He squeezed Lance’s waist. They hugged each other like everyone young does: fiercely, a little out of sync.

They pulled away at the same time, fumbling over words that didn't matter and sharing a bright stare. They had both gone through something irreversible. The crackle in the air was still there. Keith should have felt embarrassed or irritated or overwhelmingly depressed, but he didn’t. He should have looked away from Lance by now, but he didn’t. He noted that his companion didn't either. There was something different than usual about this invitation, and a bold heat rushed to his gut as he spoke up. “I’m having trouble sleeping. Are you?” Lance nodded. An invisible fishing line shaped like Lance’s arms when he hugged Keith close hooked Keith's stomach and pulled him up, up, up. He imagined Lance’s tactician brain twist around itself to solve this logic puzzle. His own was rapidly barreling toward a conclusion that he was having trouble believing. “If it happens again later,” his mouth was moving without him and there was no going back after this, “Tell me exactly how you think I’d unravel you.” It was subtle. It should have felt gross to say. He should have groaned about how insufferable Lance was, but he didn’t. It felt like the natural consequence of everything that had happened, the only thing that could make any sense to move forward, to deal with the weight of these emotions, the intensity of their bodies’ arrest. Lance should have laughed in Keith’s face, whipping out a recording device and asking him to repeat every embarrassing word one by one, face red and full from snickering, but he didn’t. He just cracked his usual charming smile, eyes sparkling, and gave a lazy two-fingered salute before stowing his weapon and walking off in the direction of the kitchen. Lance marked a win on his imaginary tally board for playing it cool, but his insides were burning and he needed to stick his head in the freezer before he imploded.

He’d solved the puzzle.

–

It was around midnight that Keith heard the buzz at his door. He hadn’t even bothered to try sleeping yet, just lay in bed staring at the darkness, replaying combat drills and parrying imaginary bots. He rose and flicked the light on, then pressed the switch to open the door. Lance strode in, wearing confidence everywhere except his shoulders and mouth, which were stiff and thin respectively. Keith chuckled amusedly at his awkwardness and Lance threw him a questioning look. Keith just shook his head and motioned for Lance to come further in. Lance obliged. “So,” he said.

“So,” Keith replied in kind.

Lance paused, unsure which direction he wanted to take first. It was early, or late, rather. Keith (with about 80% confidence) knew why he was here. Lance knew (or thought he was at least pretty sure) that Keith knew why he was here: he was smart. Keith (probably) knew that Lance knew that- “Tell me about your nightmares.” Keith squinted at him. “If you want to,” Lance added with a shrug he hoped looked casual. Keith continued staring at him. It was heavy: appraising, searching, lingering. Yeah, lingering . It was , wasn’t it?

“You die,” he said simply, quietly as he sat down on the corner of his bed. “You get all over me,” he added, matter-of-factly, or at least trying matter-of-factly. Even he could tell his eyes were instantly wild. His hands were curled into fists. His heart rate was climbing just saying this . He couldn’t add that Lance’s scream in that crater on that dusty planet replayed over and over through every single one of his nightmares, including the brief flashes he had during the day when he suddenly struggled to breathe. He watched Lance bite his lip, so he guessed that he knew without being told. “What about yours?” Lance’s immediate levelling of his features confirmed that they were just as unpleasant, if not more so.

“I die,” he said honestly. “And I take you with me.” It reignited Lance’s phantom pain if he thought about it any more than that. He couldn’t add that Keith’s terrified expression underneath him continued to haunt him, beckoning his attention both in nightmares and in hallways in the waking world on otherwise ordinary days. Judging by his nod and softening eyes, Keith understood. With that, Item One was done and there was nothing else Lance could think of to delay Number Two. Keith seemed to pick up on this because he stood and spoke.

“Tell me exactly how,” he said. His stare was fierce. Lance knew what he meant. He felt the knots begin to un-knot.

“All over me,” Lance said. His stare was deliberate. Keith knew what he meant. He felt the braided rope begin to unbraid.

“And I take you with me?” The corners of Keith’s lips tugged upward. The wild inside grew.

“Yeah.” The tips of Lance’s fingers twitched. The trigger was in reach.

The next moment snapped like a rubber band. First, there was a pull: a languid pause, a stretching of space. Next, there was tension: Keith’s step forward, Lance’s gaze dropping. Then, the rebound: Keith’s fingers on Lance’s skin, Lance’s mouth suddenly on Keith’s. 

Neither of them had expected this. Or had they? Neither of them cared about the nuances at this particular moment, because they were kissing . Lance and Keith, Blue and Red, much like veins and arteries when cut open, were spilling. Blue morphed into red with exposure to oxygen. Red morphed into blue with withdrawal from it. The changing kept happening, both ways, over and over, as the boys rendered each other breathless, filled each other with vitality. They unraveled.

Lance felt metal against his back - the wall - as Keith pushed him against it. It jarred him for just half a second, hurling his memory back to crumbling rock underneath his gloved fingers. It wasn't exactly gentle and he was more winded than he had expected, but his fingers tangled in Keith's hair instead of packed sediment and he pulled him closer before he had time to think about recovering. Instinct, rather than critical thinking, led Keith's actions in a similar way: he traced Lance's shoulders, chest, waist, hips. A brief quiver of Lance’s muscles in response emboldened him to reach under his t-shirt, stroking the scar from his most recent wound. Then his grip on Lance’s side tightened, his other hand holding the back of his neck just as strongly, his lips pulling back ever so slightly so that he could convey how much everything that had wrecked him that one day had also softened him. There weren't tears, but there might as well have been with how tenderly Lance responded. He tilted his head and pressed gently against Keith. They both shuddered. Near-death reminds you of exactly how much you can lose. Raw emotion mirrors itself in the bodies of everyone who witnesses it, attaching them and pulling them closer to each other with an unseverable iron cable. Thank you thank you thank you was all that was running through Lance’s mind as he focused on how yielding Keith's lips, cheeks, jaw, skin everywhere felt.

“I think… I need another stabilizer,” he finally huffed, voice wavering. “Different kind.”

“Too expensive to be wasting. Squeeze your abs,” Keith half-hissed half-laughed, brushing his palm across Lance’s solar plexus. The muscles immediately tensed, probably involuntarily but still achieving the same effect. He dove back onto Lance's mouth, earning an open-mouthed sigh: a win for Keith. He took advantage of it by slowly, curiously, moving his tongue in. He wondered what Lance tasted like. He needed to witness him unspooling through all his senses, needed to be all over him, like Lance had asked. This was their inevitability. Lance met his energy and opened his mouth wider for Keith to lick as much of it as he wanted. He wanted him to be thorough so that he could be just as thorough. He had to make sure they were truly still alive.

It was several hours before they paused.

“So…” Keith panted above Lance, having pinned him against the bed. He felt the most content he had in a long time, and his mind was still trying to process that it was because he had just made out with Lance for half the night. Lance: opponent, loud brat, sharpshooter, Paladin and pilot of the Blue Lion. “What now?”

“...I… didn't…” Lance didn't finish his sentence but Keith knew he meant that he hadn't expected this. Keith hadn't either. They were supposed to be friendly rivals who maybe begrudgingly hugged sometimes and only showed their true attachment when the situation was life-or-death. They had just devoured each other’s mouths as if that, too, had been life-or-death. Keith’s whole body boiled an extra several degrees to raise him the fact that there was more to consume beyond that. There was more to spill beyond that. Lance quietly growled as he came to the same conclusion. “Maybe… we should slow down?” Keith somehow managed to look equally tamed and predatory. Lance wasn’t sure how to react. No longer having his mouth and brain occupied meant that everything that had just happened was sinking in and he was a little horrified of where it was going to land. He shook his head. Before getting to that, he had to vent the rest of his heat. “Unravel me… carefully,” he said. “Slowly.” He let the pitch in his voice drop for added leverage and the darkening of Keith’s eyes told him it had had the desired effect. Keith wanted very badly to trap Lance’s wrists, get his tongue back into his mouth, and- “Hup!”

Keith blinked stupidly as he peered up at Lance, who now semi-straddled him: one knee between Keith’s legs. He’s on top of me. His brain short-circuited. He’s on top of me. Keith’s thoughts skittered away, replaced by the feeling of Lance kissing him deeply, intentionally, parting his lips just slightly as he slipped an arm under Keith’s back and hugged him to his chest. Keith thought he was going to melt into the sheets. He sighed and wrapped his arms around Lance's neck. As Lance pulled away, his gaze faltered and Keith finally saw the realization of what they had done hit him. Keith brought his forearm over his stomach, suddenly feeling naked despite all his clothes still being on.

“Uh.” Lance deliberated. This tableau would probably have been hilarious to anyone else, but the only laughter that escaped him was nervous. What had he been thinking? What was he thinking now ? What was Keith thinking? A pang of tiredness sent a cool wave down his spine. His fingers relaxed against his will. They had things to do tomorrow and the number of resting hours they could catch and still be alert for long enough after were rapidly dwindling. He knew Keith was staring at him. He couldn’t handle the intensity without risking getting no sleep whatsoever, so he watched the wall as he spoke up again. “We both need sleep.” He waited for Keith’s response. There was a delayed shuffle and he felt Keith’s heat retreat from him.

“Yeah,” Keith agreed. With a nod, Lance dragged himself back up off the bed. He moved toward the door, trying to step lightly but with purpose, as if everything was fine and he wasn’t still thinking about how good it felt to have Keith’s tongue behind his teeth and also how mortified he was by stumbling into making out with his rival so easily . Keith read him like an open book. It probably would’ve been hilarious to anyone else, but Keith was sobered by the fact that he was also feeling every single thing Lance’s body language was currently betraying. This was where they had ended up together? So effortlessly ? “Lance,” he called. Lance paused in front of the door and didn’t turn but his whole body stilled, anticipatory. Keith only briefly thought that he was about to say the cringiest thing known to Man. “That was nice.” 

Lance barely evaded a squeak. “Yeah,” he agreed, voice suddenly hoarse. He cleared his throat. Keith’s ears focused singly on his words. “Maybe…” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Get me… if you have more nightmares.”

“I have them every night.” The moment Keith heard himself say it he felt like burying his face in his hands, maybe under a pillow for good measure. He held off until Lance had disappeared through the threshold and the door had finally slid closed. Then he threw himself back on his mattress, shoved a pillow onto his face, and moaned into it.

–

The next day was back to normal by all accounts. Keith and Lance bantered as they usually did: their unique brand of animated arguing that was somehow also a form of bonding. Keith could have written their last night off as a concussion-induced hallucination if it hadn’t been for the two times he caught Lance’s eyes just right and whatever they were saying to each other died immediately in favour of a loaded moment of… something . Neither of them jumped on it because neither of them knew what in the hell to do with it. How did one approach their friend-comrade-coworker that they had finished passionately kissing just a few hours prior?

Shiro had noticed immediately. He always seemed to, which he usually thought was a good trait to have as the Paladins’ unofficial wrangler, but which he currently thought was going to lead him to information he wasn’t sure he was supposed to know. It wasn’t just the abrupt ends to their bickering halfway through forming their next words that had pinged his radar. It was also how Keith’s release of Lance’s hand after helping him up from the ground looked less like a casual and friendly drop of their touch and more like a calculated delay slipping out of it. It was also how he felt Lance’s leg brush his on its way to Keith’s under the dinner table when everyone else was laughing at something Coran had said. His brain couldn’t resolve it at first. These two were fire and water, night and day, reserved warrior and voracious flirt. Yet it only took their fingers touching one more time as Lance passed Keith the salt for him to see it undeniably: this was pining for something. Based on the expression Allura wore, he wasn’t the only one who had caught it. 

Shiro crossed his arms over his chest, trying to take a normal breath and not tip anyone off. Considering Lance’s constant advances around women of any and every species, he had not thought even for a second that what he was currently witnessing was in the realm of possibility. Keith’s untethered spaciness and unguarded facial expressions were also uncharacteristic. Something had happened on that crater out in the middle of space, or maybe started after that, or maybe started way before then. There was no way Shiro could know. Up to today, he had assumed that Keith’s and Lance’s strained smiles and tense touches during their recovery were a result of them trying to keep themselves together after one of them had been nearly ripped apart in front of the other. Trauma did strange things to people. 

Shiro couldn’t help his quiet chuckle. Indeed, strange things. 

He caught Lance’s eye just as he finished forming that thought and he watched his smile waver. He recovered and shot Shiro a questioning eyebrow. Shiro looked pointedly at him, flicked his glance to Keith - who was now passing the salt to Pidge -, then held Lance’s gaze steadily again. Lance worried at his lip. Shiro blinked and almost missed it. 

Then Shiro reached out and patted Lance’s bicep. He didn’t know what else he could do. “It’s okay,” he said. They were okay, if different. He let the words sink in before he deflected for Lance’s sake. “I didn’t forget the pizza.” A moment longer than would have been usual passed before Lance grinned widely and shot a fist into the air in triumph. Shiro caught Allura’s eyes again and she nodded, almost imperceptibly, whispering to Coran about producing the sauce and cheese-covered dough.

Lance could feel a cold sweat beginning. Shiro knows, he thought. Knew what, exactly, he couldn’t describe because neither he nor Keith had said anything about what to do with… this. Lance studied the space between them as he contemplated the thought, but he was shortly interrupted by the savoury scent of marinara-adjacent whatever-this-was. He stayed behind to eat as much as he could, if only to try to convince Shiro that nothing was different and he didn't need any approval, but another knowing glance from their leader iced his core. He hadn’t stood a chance. He could only hope Shiro would remain quiet and that he and Keith would figure out what was happening between them as soon as possible.

He finally got Keith alone by the fridge at cleanup; he had bee-lined for him when he had seen the opportunity. They spoke wordlessly and shockingly forwardly. I remember what happened. Me too. Lance reached past Keith to close the fridge door when it started buzzing from being left open. Keith continued to hold a carton of something that Lance currently did not care to find out about. Lance glanced around the room to make doubly sure that no one was in earshot before he spoke up. “Do you want to do it again?” Asking this felt insane. He hadn’t meant to lead with it, but here he was betraying himself, again. Keith thought that he had made his invitation to come back pretty clear earlier but he also remembered that midnight confessions were probably a little more confusing after several hours of sleep. He additionally knew that it was way easier to nod his head about something like this when he was touch-drunk than when he was fully alert and self-aware and looking at someone that a few weeks ago he barely wanted to be near , much less embrace like they had. He fumbled his response and then gritted his teeth in embarrassment.

“Yes,” he grunted out. In another time, he would have evaded, he would never have admitted anything to Lance or even to himself about what was going on inside his head, but this conversation was not going to stay private long and there was no way in hell he was going to let this get out to anyone else. The fishing line was still pulling him. “Do you?” An invisible force that felt a lot like a breathy sigh lured his eyes up to meet Lance’s. Honesty really was harder out in the open, humility even more so. Keith wanted Lance’s mouth on his neck and his hands between his thighs and it didn’t make any fucking sense how intensely he was feeling this all of a sudden. Had this always been underneath? Was this just his body's strange way of processing their botched mission? The competitive part of him refused to imagine himself whimpering under someone else’s touch and yet here he was, holding a carton of weird alien juice in the middle of the kitchen, surrounded by his teammates, wanting the one in front of him to force him onto the nearest countertop. It was mortifying, it was confusing, it was exhilarating. No amount of training could have prepared him for the betrayal of heart that had unfolded and was continuing to unfold, almost entirely because he himself kept allowing it. A past Keith would have heavily questioned current Keith’s choices. A past Keith didn't need the same reassurance, proof , that Lance was alive. Current Keith needed to feel it as close as possible.

Lance nodded. “Yeah,” he said, interrupting Keith’s internal whirlwind. “I do.” He said it seriously, but Keith still caught bewilderment in his tone. Paradoxically, he relaxed some. Lance also did, knowing now that, for sure, he wasn’t the only one thinking what in the hell and hell yes simultaneously. They’d probably have to talk about this properly eventually, but right now he was far less interested in talking than he was in moving his mouth another way.

–

It was Hunk who figured it out next. There was only so much touching like that that was normal for platonic relationships. Even he knew that because, the hugger he was, he didn’t stall like he was currently watching Keith stall. Only after seeing it happen a few more times did he notice that Lance was doing it, too. And they were only doing it with each other.

“What’s going on?” he finally asked point-blank as he passed Keith in the hall.

“What?”

Hunk didn’t know how to answer sensitively, not knowing the situation, so he didn’t bother with discretion at all. “There’s something going on between you and Lance.” Keith’s whole body tensed enough that Hunk imagined he could jump eight feet in the air with the windup. “What’s going on?” he asked again, taking care to assure Keith through his tone that he just wanted to know if they were okay.

The pause was long, but Hunk didn’t back down. He waited patiently with a hand on his hip until Keith had no other option but to speak again. “...I don’t know.” 

Hunk didn’t have a response for that one. He didn’t recognize all of the emotions he could hear in Keith’s voice and, while perhaps it was not unusual to not notice some of Keith’s emotional expression, he hadn’t thought that it was possible to witness it plainly and still not be able to label it. He detected hesitation, surprise, maybe embarrassment. The others reminded him of alarm, but also of hope, without really being either of those exactly. There was a loud and spiky energy and there was a layered and profound energy, and that was the most Hunk could make of them.

“Can you not say anything about it to the others?” Keith interrupted his thoughts.

The unplaceable vocal mixture distracted Hunk just enough to falter on his response. “...Why?”

“I want to figure it out first.”

This time Hunk detected every single emotion and intention in Keith’s voice. He was cautious, he was resigned, he was content: all stable emotions. There was nothing unsure about him. So, he was lying. Why? Hunk cocked his head. “What more do you need to figure out?” Keith’s caught expression was obvious and he knew it, Hunk knew he knew it, but neither of them commented on it further. Hunk’s thoughts funneled rapidly toward the answer.

Keith hung back on his response, shutting his eyes tightly for a moment before side-stepping Hunk with an awkward slap on the back. He made his escape just as Hunk’s mental sprint and vault culminated in a perfectly stuck landing on the correct answer. 

“Oh,” he said to no one. Keith and Lance were no longer simply tolerating each other: that was obvious. They weren’t exploring new depths of friendship, though, not with that reaction. Everything he had just seen, from Keith, from Lance, indicated one thing: they were into each other.

–

It was night five when Keith felt the dominant emotion behind Lance’s lips change. The heat, desperation, intensity: all of what they had been letting hijack their bodies the past few nights swiftly shifted to the back seat. At the forefront, delicate and slowly-filling, was… relief. No, not just relief, Keith thought. 

“Fuck,” Lance breathed against Keith’s mouth. His consonants drew too tightly together; he had no doubt also noticed it. It wasn’t just relief. He kissed him again, anyway. His fingers brushed Keith’s cheek, cupping his jaw and slightly adjusting its angle so that Keith could kiss him back more comfortably. It was a small thing, but it was not the only small thing that indicated to Keith that something had shifted. Lance was slowing down every one of his kisses, every one of his touches. He wasn’t lingering like someone stopping himself from living his wildest passions, he was basking in Keith’s presence. He was reveling in Keith . Keith didn’t know what to do with that except return it. He wanted to return it.

“Come closer,” he said, pulling the front of Lance’s shirt for emphasis. He did it gently, matching Lance’s pace to see what he would do. Lance leaned closer, steadying himself with the help of his arm to climb onto Keith’s lap. His knees hugged Keith’s hip bones and they both sank a little on the mattress. Keith wrapped both his arms around Lance’s waist and lightly squeezed him closer, resuming their kiss. Hunk’s words from the other day entered his mind: he knew what this was. He wanted to deny it, but he also knew that doing so wouldn’t be at all effective in changing his feelings, which were… no longer only platonic. They also weren’t only physical. His knucklehead of a teammate had been testing Keith’s boundaries and Keith had decided that this was the direction the boundary had to push, even if he hadn’t recognized it consciously at the time. He did now. “Lance,” he said between soft and full kisses. “What are you feeling?”

Lance didn’t know whether this was a trick question. Keith could almost certainly read everything he was feeling just by looking at him and feeling him. “About?”

“Me.” Lance paused. What did he feel about Keith exactly?

Whatever it was was evidently enough to want to kiss him straight into the floor, which Lance decided to try resuming while he thought of his answer. Was this what his last crush felt like? No. Was this different because he had nearly died recently and everything was just weird and unnatural after that? Maybe. Probably. 

It wasn’t just relief.

Keith hummed against Lance’s mouth and Lance couldn’t ignore the feeling that washed over his entire body. It barreled forward, slamming Lance’s insides. It was almost painful but it somehow also felt beautiful: it was a feeling that, upon witnessing, morphed into a priceless artifact, a piece of art, a natural wonder. Lance couldn’t help but proverbially touch it to learn it. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander while he thawed overtop of Keith, Keith’s mouth gradually melting him, unspooling him. His mind conjured an impossible garden in the shape of them embracing, and in it was his real emotion: genuine interest, affection, passion, love. Yep, it was love. It had to be. It couldn’t be but it had to be: that was the final shape of the puzzle. He had already known, maybe even before then. It had always been a kind of love, anyway, and now it had morphed into another kind. This kind made Lance want to plant kisses everywhere on Keith’s face - which he did - and pull Keith’s body as close to his as possible - which he did. They both plunged into the touch.

Lance forgot to answer. Keith forgot to ask again.

–

Pidge more found out than figured it out. People always told Pidge she was quiet: great for stealth reconnaissance, not so great for figuring out what to do when she walked in on two of her fellow Paladins wrapped in a kind of embrace she had often seen her parents share. She nearly said something, nearly cleared her throat so that she didn’t have to witness this gag-worthy sugary love thing, but then she realized exactly what it meant that those thoughts had occurred to her while standing only meters from Keith and Lance . 

Then they kissed, and Pidge nearly fell backwards. Their faces screamed so many emotions at once: happiness, grief, pain, comfort. This was Keith and Lance. Keith and Lance were kissing in front of Pidge like Pidge had seen people who were profoundly committed to each other do. It was a connection and vulnerability that Pidge had almost never seen either of them express individually, let alone together. Were they in an alternate universe? Had aliens replaced the real Keith and Lance with clones? Clones that were really into each other for no reason other than to trip up Pidge’s mental algorithms and make her wonder whether she had accidentally electrocuted herself with her Bayard?

Pidge’s thoughts kept going in circles. Nothing made sense; she’d seen Lance roll his eyes when Keith so much as interrupted his walk down the hall . Yet, everything made sense; she’d seen Keith strain his eyes to watch every single one of Lance’s first steps out of the healing pod. Her shoe squeaked as she tried to take a step back. Her gaze locked on Keith first, who, in that moment, looked at her like he was ready to disintegrate but was still far too close to Lance to assuage Pidge’s confusion. “Uh” was all Pidge could say. Keith brought a hand over his face, silently wishing he was anywhere but here. Lance had nothing, absolutely nothing at all for the Green Paladin. He tried a disarming smile, but he looked more disarm ed than disarm ing . Pidge decided that she was not equipped to deal with this right now. “Listen,” she said, hands in front of her. “It’s none of my business.” She conjured a complicated schematic in her brain that she decided needed to be brought to life immediately in her makeshift lab on the complete other side of the Castle. Then she turned on her toe and power-walked back out into the hallway while Keith and Lance just stared after her, Lance’s hand still resting on Keith’s waist. 

“Now does everyone know?” Keith grumbled as he dropped his head onto Lance’s shoulder.

“Yeah…” Lance’s voice cracked as he replied. “Pidge was the last one.”

Keith’s response was incoherent against Lance’s shoulder. Lance suspected that it wouldn’t have sounded any more coherent if it hadn’t been muffled anyway. This was what they got for risking this in plain sight. Poor Pidge had been the first to walk in on him bleeding out, and now she had been the first to walk in on him making out with another one of their companions. “Is there any point hiding it?” Keith’s question was clear even through the dampener that was Lance’s clothing and body. Lance thought about it but couldn’t find a reasonable justification.

“I… guess not,” he answered. The admission didn’t make him want to do this privately any less. They’d managed to keep their nightly kissing booth going for the better part of a week without anyone confronting them about it. It. They still hadn’t told each other what it was. Then Lance suddenly remembered Keith’s question he had never answered. “Keith?” Keith looked up at him expectantly. Lance had the feeling that Keith knew exactly what he was about to say, but Keith’s calm about it almost irritated him more than if he had expressed nervousness. Wasn’t stuff like this supposed to be romantic? A few flirty words, a few flirty touches, catching feelings, confessing them, establishing a relationship, followed by deeply intimate bonding moments (and more touches)… It occurred only now to Lance that they were doing things a little out of order. Was that why this was so hard? Or was it because Keith was very much not Lance’s usual target, i.e., a girl? Or was it because it was Keith specifically, i.e., his rival, the dude who annoyed the shit out of him at all other moments of the day? He probably should have been thinking about this more during all this time and not right now before they were about to have the conversation. Here he had thought he had already known everything.

Keith knew what it looked like when Lance struggled because he was about to make himself vulnerable: he had witnessed it countless times in front of all of Team Voltron and he was witnessing it right now in front of him alone. He took a deep breath, watching and waiting to see if Lance would be able to find his words soon enough to prevent Keith from doing all the work. Nearly a full minute passed of Lance looking frantically between his hands and Keith just sighed. “If we’re not hiding it, then… we should probably define it.” His face suddenly felt several degrees warmer than it had a few seconds ago. “What… are we doing?”

Lance waved his hands. “I don’t know! Hooking up? Venting? Dating? I don’t-”

“Which one of those do you want ?” Keith interrupted, feeling like he was chewing gravel.

Lance peered back at Keith, mouth still open and eyes large. “What… I want?”

“Yes.” Now there was even more figurative gravel.

“I just want you .” Lance’s response was simple and immediate, and he clearly blurted it out before thinking because his ears were now turning a gnarly shade of red. Keith was certain his were doing something identical, if not even more dramatic. “I… damn. Shit.” Lance dropped into a defeated squat, his head in his hands. Keith tentatively kneeled next to him, firing his core muscles to remain stable now that several of his limbs suddenly threatened to shake. 

“I…” Keith could barely breathe through his constricted throat. He nearly growled as he reached out to touch Lance’s arm. Lance looked up at him through his fingers. “ I want to keep doing this, I want you to keep doing this.” He paused, licking his lips. “I… want to know what it feels like… to fall for you.”

There was silence for a moment. It wasn’t nearly as tense as Keith had expected it could be, but it still made his heart nearly stop beating. He had said it. Lance just sighed. “Too late.” He said it matter-of-factly. It could have been annoying and presumptuous, but Lance’s delivery was too honest. It was the truth, wasn’t it? They’d both known it the whole time. Keith heard and felt himself chuckle.

“Yeah. I forgot you’re smart too sometimes.”

“Hey!”

Keith just laughed more, releasing Lance’s arm and sitting himself on the floor. Lance remained in his tense squat, but his hands relaxed and he joined in the tittering. The two of them looked at each other like they had been looking for days, for weeks. It was a quiet but special moment: time seemed to stop, planets aligned, stars twinkled into existence.

“Hey,” Lance said again. “You asked me what I want.” He finally changed position to half-kneel half-squat, a few inches closer to Keith. His hand came to rest on Keith’s left thigh. “I…” He gulped and only briefly thought that he was about to say the cringiest thing known to Man. “I want to… love you.” 

Keith kissed him first. Lance didn’t hesitate to kiss back. They still hadn’t technically labelled their relationship, but they both decided in that moment that it didn’t matter. Their relationship was Keith and Lance. Keith and Lance were going to be spilling love of all kinds.

–

At whatever-time-of-the-night it was that evening, Keith thought that he was really glad he knew that these rooms were soundproofed. He let out another gasp as Lance sucked on the spot where his neck met his shoulder, just above his shirt collar. 

“I love the noises you make,” Lance murmured against his ear. Keith felt like his spine was going to be ripped out of him with how hard the shiver down it jerked his body. Lance breathed out a chuckle that made Keith feel simultaneously thrilled, needy, and mad. “Do that again,” he whispered directly into his ear. Keith growled in protest but his body writhed in the same way against his will. His hips arched directly up to meet Lance’s thigh between them and the brief friction defused his frustration, replacing it entirely with stunned pleasure. He heard Lance swear and then felt his lips and tongue on his neck again, as well as both his hands under Keith’s shirt. His hands were warm and mostly steady. Ever since their conversation they were both shakier than usual, which Keith finally understood now to be extended caution; it was not exactly shyness because Keith would not have called himself shy, but it was nevertheless close to it. Change communicated explicitly tended to reset things. Things were different now because they couldn't fall back through the easy out of just venting frustration through sensual means, getting carried away by their bodies. No, this was deliberate. They were kissing and touching each other because they wanted to make each other feel good, yes, and also because they wanted each other specifically.

Lance tried to calm the rising panic in his chest as he replayed the previous moment: he had definitely felt Keith’s body through his shorts and he could definitely tell that Keith was [redacted]. Repeat: Keith was very [nope]. Lance was touching him and he was responding eagerly, obvious through his [Lance’s brain refused to land on the reality]. Lance was trying to distract the both of them by busying himself with what he was doing earlier - grounding in the familiarity - but his hands were taking things further and his leg was beginning to tremble and part of him internally was desperately circling a spot on his body just below his newest scar, slightly more towards center, with a bright red crayon. He needed Keith's hands there. He needed Keith’s mouth there. He had just been all confidence, soaking himself in the fun and the connection of the moment, but now he was hurtling towards disarray. Fast. He held Keith’s shirt in his hands. Keith’s deft fingers were already prying his off. He was letting him. He had to let him, he wanted to let him, just a little more.

Keith ran his hands down Lance's bare chest, soaking him up through his touch. He followed with his lips and then his tongue where he could reach, straining his neck and pulling Lance's body closer to him. Lance trembled on his forearms but welcomed the attention. Keith's only remaining rational brain cell took note that he gasped especially loudly when he licked his skin, so he kept doing it until Lance couldn't take it anymore and forced Keith’s tongue back into his mouth. Keith chuckled briefly against him. Lance shifted his body so that his pelvis was flush with Keith's and he ground purposefully against him. Keith swore. Lance pressed his mouth harder against Keith's in an attempt to get his tongue further down his throat. Keith grabbed Lance's hip and rocked against him. Once. Twice. “Mm,” Lance mumbled, briefly pulling away from his mouth and matching Keith's movement. They both panted.

There was nothing intelligible in the messes of their thoughts.

Keith’s body tingled with a new rush of… something. He didn’t have the mental coherence to even try to figure it out. He traced Lance’s waistband with both hands, travelling inward. Lance shuddered above him. He grabbed one of Keith's hands and pushed it against the bed above his head. He wove their fingers together, squeezing as he kissed Keith's mouth. Keith let himself linger on the kiss before resuming the path of his fingers, gently pushing under one layer of fabric, then the other, just in time for Lance’s body to finally catch up to his brain. He pulled away, fingers still entwined in Keith’s. “Hey, l-let’s… let’s not,” he huffed.

Keith opened his eyes. He watched Lance’s brows furrow, his shoulders rise in time with his breathing, and his Adam’s apple move to accommodate a steadying swallow. Then he remembered that Lance had just said something to him. Then he remembered that conversational etiquette demanded a response. “Not what?”

“Go… farther.” Keith blanched. His left thumb and pinkie finger were still touching the skin under Lance’s waistband and he knew that there was only one logical place to go next from there. He stilled, finally listening to his own thoughts enough to hear an echoing wait not yet in the forefront of his mind . “I…” Lance breathed out a single laugh. Keith gazed up at Lance and thought, in that moment, that he could see the whole galaxy reflected back at him through his cobalt-coloured eyes. “Can we… take our time to get there?” Keith was smiling even before he had processed Lance’s utterance consciously. 

“Yeah.” He breathed his own laugh out, the heat around them beginning to dissipate. “Yeah. I’d like that. Please.” He leaned into Lance’s hand as Lance brushed some of Keith’s hair out of his face. “Take your time with me too.” Lance’s smile didn’t change: it remained genuine, trusting, nervous, young. They were both young and this was a lot. They were both young and they had all the time in the world. Keith’s back strained briefly as he lifted his torso to press a kiss to Lance’s forehead. Lance crumpled on top of him as he relaxed, Keith letting more air out of his lungs that he had intended to with the additional weight.

“Great,” Lance mumbled. “Sounds… good.” Keith ran a hand through Lance’s hair, focusing his attention on Lance’s heartbeat and laboured breaths against his chest. It did sound good.

–

It didn’t really get easier to watch Lance’s body smash into the ground, but the panic that accompanied the scene lingered less, especially because Lance got back up quicker and Keith always moved even faster.

As Lance rolled onto his knee, Keith extended his hand. It didn't tremble. Lance took it. Their grasp was warm, force strong. Their hold on each other only weakened once Keith had pulled Lance all the way up; then, Lance threaded their fingers together. He looked ridiculous: so boyish with his messed up hair, his wide symmetrical grin, and dirt on his face plate. Yet, Keith didn't look away. He noted that Lance didn't either. “Could you at least try to take this seriously?”

“I am.” Lance’s delivery was soft. It was in the voice he reserved only for Keith and Keith momentarily forgot that they were on an open comm channel when he responded.

“Prove it.”

Lance chuckled and leaned closer toward Keith. “You couldn't handle it.” 

Keith leaned in, unfazed. His pitch dipped lower. “I know you know exactly how much of you I can handle.”

“Ugh.” Pidge’s gag echoed in their ears. “Can you please do your flirting when I can’t hear you directly in my ears?” A quiet yelp of surprise escaped Keith and laughs from both Hunk and Shiro could be heard in response. 

Lance toggled his mute button and swung his arm around Keith’s shoulder, motioning for him to do the same. Once he did, Lance grinned wider. His gaze hardened. “I won’t let anything that bad happen to me again,” he said quietly. Keith’s expression was complicated, but Lance parsed it mostly as gratitude, alongside Keith’s special brand of loving concern. “Trust me?” Keith’s next breath out was extended, then he nodded.

“I trust you.” Keith wrapped his arm around Lance’s neck. “Do you trust me?” Lance regarded Keith suspiciously for a moment before nodding. “Good.” Keith removed his arm and trailed his fingers down Lance’s until they were holding hands again.

Their bickering hadn’t changed much in content, save the occasional flirting (which Hunk greatly enjoyed and Pidge greatly suffered from) and the addition of more forward and longer physical contact. Shiro wasn’t sure that Keith or Lance even noticed the latter, and he wondered again about it when he spotted them on their return to the rendez-vous point, hand in hand. He couldn’t help smiling; he wouldn’t say it out loud in case it ruined the moment, but he thought it was hopelessly adorable. The smiles from Hunk, Coran, Allura, and even Pidge (behind her determined grimace) made it obvious that he wasn’t alone in that thinking. Love and trauma were such strange things, but sometimes sharing them, even both at once, led to unexpected outcomes. Keith and Lance were just one example, but Shiro felt it from all of his companions: unravelling the rope actually prevented its burn.